


Batch Made in Heaven

by chubbystoutpenguin, Turtlewatcher



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Baker Reiner, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Modern Era, New Years, Nurse Bertolt, Reiner POV, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbystoutpenguin/pseuds/chubbystoutpenguin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlewatcher/pseuds/Turtlewatcher
Summary: In which Reiner is an up-and-rising baker who didn’t expect to find love in an urgent care.There is only one problem: he never got his number.
Relationships: Reiner Braun & Porco Galliard, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 65
Kudos: 151





	1. Meet-Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Pengi for writing this wonderful fluff with me! 
> 
> This fic is set real time, but please join us in ignoring the existence of a certain virus...
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It was that time of the year again, when the colors from Reiner’s kitchen exploded into the outside world. They glowed through the streets, hung from canopies, and wound up every pillar and tree in sight. The music and the scents followed along. Old, but beloved, jingles emanating from every house, every store; the smell of pine and warm spices greeting him at every turn.

It was the holidays: a busy time, a cheerful time, a wonderful time. Even if the assault of colors were starting to hurt his eyes.

This was why mornings were becoming Reiner's favorite time of the day, when the streets were still sparse and the sun was nothing but a teasing line in the horizon; the fairy lights of the neighboring stores, fast asleep. Being the first to arrive at the store meant a half hour of peace without his coworkers and before the shop finally opened to the bustle of visitors.

But today was different. Today, to his surprise, he walked in to the smell of coffee already lingering in the air along with the sweet scent of yeast. Small chatter echoed from the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” he called out.

Colt was the first to turn around. 

“Good morning, Reiner!”

Porco followed with a noncommittal grunt and a nod. Reiner put on his chef’s jacket, washed his hands. 

“You’re early. You don’t have to be in for another half an hour.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a big order, isn’t it?” Porco said. His brow scrunched in concentration as he rolled out the dough, smoothing it over the countertop. “Big day.”

“Didn’t know you cared so much about the store.”

“Me, caring about the place that pays me? Never.” 

Reiner laughed. “Alright. How are things going so far?’

“On track.” Porco gestured. “I’m starting the first batch.”

Reiner grabbed another bowl of prepped dough and took his position behind an empty countertop. 

“Great. I’ll get started on the second one. Colt, how are you doing there?”

“Starting on the ganaches.” He had multiple saucepans going, thermometers poking out of them. “And the caramel.”

“Alright. Be careful.”

Reiner supposed it was a big day — possibly the biggest day for the store since it opened five years ago. It was definitely their biggest order to date: hundreds of their signature pastries, uniform and perfectly baked, to be delivered to the big holiday party in city hall by end of day.

If this worked out smoothly, it could mean much more business. Their name, out there.  _ His  _ name.

“I still can’t believe we get to bake for the mayor’s party,” Colt said. “Not that I’m surprised, Reiner. I told you these would blow up one day.”

Reiner smiled. “It’s too early to say.”

“Stop being modest,” Porco huffed. “You got picked up by the local paper. I may have my nose stuck in dough all the time, but I see how busy it is out there.”

Reiner supposed it was true. Things had been looking up. Or perhaps it was just the luck of the holiday season; the result of a month of cheer and generosity.

“Well, if things do go well, maybe we can throw ourselves a nicer celebration this year. What do you say?” Reiner looked, knowingly, at Colt. “We can get that whiskey you liked so much last year, Colt.”

Porco snickered. “I wouldn’t mind another show.”

Colt simply looked down onto his saucepans, embarrassed. “I can handle my alcohol better now, thank you very much.”

“Want to bet?”

Colt only blushed.

“Alright, enough harassing the apprentice.” Reiner scraped out his dough and rolled it out. “Any other plans for the holidays?”

Colt sounded relieved. “Not much. We might go out of the city, for a little bit. Take Falco skiing for the first time.”

“So that’s why Gabi’s been on me about skiing.”

“They’re inseparable, aren’t they?”

“Joined at the hip.”

“Maybe we can take them together?”

Reiner sighed. “Not this year. Who would keep the fort up and running, if we all run off during Christmas?”

“Well, if you’re going to be a grinch,” Porco chimed in. “At least let Gabi off the hook and run away with the Grices.”

“And let her terrorize them?”

“Oh, I’m sure Gabi won’t be a burden at all,” Colt said quickly. “She can come, if she wants.”

Reiner smiled, shook his head. “Thank you, Colt, but I think we’ll celebrate at home, like usual. Another time, maybe.”

A loud thwack followed as Porco beat a slab of butter into his dough. “Well, if anyone’s interested in  _ my  _ plans…” Reiner rolled his eyes, Colt only smiled. “I’ll be the cooking elf, as usual. And it looks like there will be another mouth to feed this year.”

“Oh? Marcel’s finally bringing Annie home?”

“Looks like it. Just my luck. I’ll cook everything  _ and  _ get my ear chewed off about when  _ I’m _ going to bring someone home.” He glanced at Reiner. “You’re lucky you don’t have a sibling, Reiner. Although at this rate…” He gave him a shit-eating grin, cocked his head towards Colt. “Gabi will probably bring home her boyfriend first and  _ then _ Karina will start giving you some pressure.”

“Oh, come on.” Was that heat, flushing to his face? “I’m not that bad.”

“Not that bad? You’ve spent the last five Christmases and Valentines alone.”

“Didn’t know you counted.”

“I didn’t,” Porco jeered. He folded the dough expertly over the butter, flipped it over. “You get emotional drunk over it every year and announce the count to the rest of us.”

Reiner looked at Colt hastily, seeking confirmation. Colt averted his eyes. So that was a yes.

“It’s the alcohol talking,” Reiner defended. “I don’t need to date just yet. I just want to—“

“Focus on my career,” all three of them said at once, then exploded into laughter. 

Reiner groaned. “Have I  _ really _ talked about it this much?”

“Only every holiday that’s meaningful enough to send your soul to crisis.” 

“Fine,” Reiner conceded, sighing. “Maybe I sometimes do feel lonely, but—“ He waved his rolling pin at his coworkers. “I really am busy with the store. I don’t have time to look around, or be distracted.”

Porco whistled. “That’s always what someone says just before they meet someone.”

“And where did you get that idea, Porco? From the pile of romcoms you watch every Christmas?”

The flush that reached Porco’s ears was confirmation enough, and the conversation ended in a stalemate.

The day flew by in a blur. Somehow the shop also received higher traffic than usual, pastries and breads disappearing quickly from their window cases, a line forming out of the shop at some point. And at the height of it all, Reiner had to do the finishing touches on the mayor’s order.

This was Reiner’s favorite part. He may not seem the type, at first glance. Standing at six feet tall, burly, with thick fingers to match — he would not be anyone’s first guess or choice to be icing delicate pastries or molding brittle, temperamental candies. But here he stood, bowed over the countertop, systematically glazing each pastry and pushing neat, button-sized caramel candies onto them. Before long, many dozens of identically decorated pastries were packed into boxes and delivered, safely, to the city hall.

And with that, the day was over. What felt even better was finally being able to rest his feet, even if he was perched on an uncomfortable kitchen stool, pressed into the countertop with two other men. Porco popped open a cheap pint of whiskey and poured it into three mugs.

“Cheers,” he said. They clinked and drank it all in one go. Colt coughed. “To what will hopefully force Reiner to admit that he’s a pretty damn good baker.”

“But to also remember that I couldn’t have done it without you two.”

“That goes without saying.”

Colt smiled, sheepishly. “I’m just the apprentice. I should be thanking you for giving me a chance.”

“Please. You’re top of the class at your school, aren't you?” Colt managed an embarrassed nod. “So really, I’m lucky to be able to snag someone like you. You could’ve gone off to work at hotels. Big chains.”

“Yes, but—“ Colt shrugged. “I like your food.”

“He’s becoming a true chef,” Porco said, topping off their drinks. They swallowed it all in one go again. “His brain is migrating to his stomach.”

“Chef Colt,” Reiner teased. “To think that that would happen in a year or so…”

“Oh, enough about me.” Colt’s face was starting to redden, both from the alcohol and the attention.

Porco laughed. “Fair enough. I like it so much better when we’re bullying Reiner over his lack of luck in the  _ amour  _ department anyways.”

Reiner frowned. “Come on, you’re also still single.”

“But I’ve dated. I haven’t spent five consecutive Valentines or Christmases, all alone.”

Reiner groaned. “I’m not all alone.”

“Oh, because spending holidays with Karina and her rotation of boyfriends must be so fun for you?”

“There’s also Gabi.”

“At this point, Gabi will be invited to spend holidays with the Grices before you ever leave the nest.”

Reiner sighed. He supposed it was true. Ever since he opened the store five years ago, he had been propelled headfirst into a world full of administrative duties, logistics and baking — laboring over a hot oven, experimenting with new ingredients, practicing new techniques. But it had paid off. It had resulted in his signature menu item: buttery, doughnut-shaped pastries that flaked in the mouth and burst with a cream filling. 

And the public had noticed. He had made the local paper. The mayor had asked his shop to cater for the party. He supposed, amidst it all, he hadn’t realized how absolutely buried in work he had been.

“Maybe trying to get myself out there will be my New Year’s resolution, then,” Reiner said, almost to himself. He supposed he couldn’t keep crashing on Karina’s dinners forever.

“That’s the spirit.” Porco gestured. “Now, let’s get another bottle.”

Reiner raised his eyebrow. “There’s still a little bit left in this one.”

Porco grabbed the bottle and chugged the rest of it. “Not anymore.”

“I worry for you.”

Porco flashed a smirk at that.

“Speak for yourself, spinster.”

“I’ll get it,” Colt said, standing up on his tiptoes and reaching up towards the cabinet. He did a little leap, grabbing the bottle.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or just a dash of bad luck. When Colt landed, his ankle gave way, and he teetered back against the stove, knocking against a saucepan handle. It wobbled over the precipice and tipped over, coming dangerously close to Colt’s arm.

Out of pure instinct, Reiner leaped forward and grabbed outwards, stopping the saucepan in its path and pushing it back onto the stovetop. But he wasn’t quick enough. He felt a sudden, searing pain over his forearm, forcing him to let go. The pan spilled all over the stove, hot caramel leaking into the crevices of the burners.

“Shit!”

Reiner didn’t even know who swore. It seemed to come out of his mouth, and Porco’s, and Colt’s — all at once. Someone grabbed at him and ushered him towards the sink, running cold water over the area.

“Someone needs to call for an ambulance—“

“Ambulance? It’s the city, it’s easier to just run him down to a clinic or something— It’s not like he lost his legs—“

“I’m so sorry, Reiner—“

“Oh my god. Why is the alcohol hitting me now—“

“Porco,” Reiner said, through gritted teeth. He glanced at the wound — a crater forming in his forearm. “Can you take me to the urgent care?” He tried to remember. “I’m pretty sure there’s one two blocks away. I walk by it every morning.”

“Right. Right. Okay.” Porco ran off, came back with their coats and belongings. “Colt. Can you clean up and lock up?”

“Yes! Yes, of course. I’m so sorry about everything—“

“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry—”

“Save the apologies for later,” Porco yelled, pushing Reiner out of the shop, into the cold. “We need to save his life, now!”

“I’m not dying—“

“Shut up, Reiner!”

For someone who believed his life to be in danger, Porco was not forgiving at all when it came to dragging him to the urgent care. They half-ran, half-jogged the whole way and by the time Reiner was in the waiting room, he was out of breath — both from the cold weather that seemed to suck the air out of his lungs and the unrelenting pain that still burned through his right arm. He was thankful that the waiting room was relatively empty.

“Sit,” Porco commanded. He ransacked through Reiner’s pockets, grabbed his wallet and ran towards reception. “Please. My friend’s been burned.” He flipped through the wallet and threw down what Reiner assumed was his ID card. “That’s his information.”

The receptionist blinked, peeked through at Reiner. “Alright. I’ll check him in. How bad is the burn?”

“Bad. Can someone see him soon?”

The receptionist opened her mouth, closed it again, and sighed. “Someone will call you right in.”

“How soon?”

“Soon, sir. Please, take a seat.”

Porco paced back towards Reiner. “I really hope they aren’t lying to us.” He blanched at Reiner’s arm. “God. Can you… cover it up?”

“Geez.” Reiner cupped one hand over the burn. “Didn’t you used to be pre-med?”

“Why do you think I dropped out?”

Reiner grumbled under his breath. He really should’ve brought Colt instead. He was thankful that they had a bit to drink before, if only to mask Porco’s whining and the pain in his arm.

“Reiner Braun,” someone called out. The owner of the voice — a man in scrubs — soon rounded the corner. His face was downturned towards a clipboard and Reiner noted how tall he was — taller than even him, perhaps. And when the man looked up, his olive green eyes sweeping over the waiting room, Reiner suddenly felt warm all over. Was it the alcohol, settling in with the adrenaline?

No. It was definitely something else. 

_ Get it together, Reiner _ , he told himself. For god’s sake, the man was wearing a face mask, he couldn’t even see his full face! But what peeked out was already enough to pique his curiosity — dark strands of hair falling over tanned skin, and those eyes…. Those eyes. Was it possible to have a crush on someone over just half of their face?

Porco kicked at his shoe. “Reiner Braun. You need to go in.”

He jolted awake. “Right—” Reiner jumped up. “Here. It’s me. Reiner Braun, I mean.”

The green eyes crinkled; the man was smiling. 

“Come with me, Reiner.” He nodded at Porco. “You can bring your friend in, if you want.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

The man led them to a small room, where Reiner sat down on the patient’s chair. Porco milled around in a corner.

“Are you a doctor?” Reiner blurted out, stupidly. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t an entirely good thing here.

The man blinked. “I’m a nurse practitioner.” His eyes crinkled again. “But don’t worry, I’ve seen my fair share of burns.”

“Oh—I’m sure—I was just, uh, curious.”

“That’s alright.” He settled next to Reiner. “Let’s take a look.” 

At this proximity, his voice slid through Reiner’s ears like caramel, smooth and warm. Reiner could feel his heart beating faster. The nurse’s brow scrunched as he examined the wound. 

“Oh, my. What happened?”

“Sugar burn,” Reiner said.  _ Take off your mask.  _ “Accident at work.”  _ Take off your mask. _

“Hmm.” 

The nurse pulled down his mask. Reiner almost let out a graceless squeak. 

“Did you do first aid?” He peered up, waiting for an answer.

Reiner swallowed. Any coherent sentence that should’ve occurred to his brain was knocked dead by the revelation. He had been right, after all. What hid behind the mask was a long, curved nose and a defined face. A face that looked at you with all the kindness in the world. Maybe Reiner should worry more about the throbbing pain on his arm, but at this moment, he was rather lost in the nurse’s eyes.

“We ran it under cold water,” Porco chimed in, from his corner. He sounded a little high-pitched.

“Ice water? Or just cold?”

“Cold. From the tap.”

“Good,” the nurse said, smiling. It was getting to be a little too much to look at him. Reiner peeked down at the name badge pinned to the front of his scrubs and tried his best to read the text, but when the nurse shifted, he lost track of the letters. All he got was a B-E-R-T. Bert?

“Alright, Reiner.” The voice brought him back to reality. “It looks like you have a second-degree burn here. I’m going to clean it, okay? It’ll sting, but we need to do it.” The nurse turned away and came back with a tray of freshly soaked gauzes. “It's good that you’re quick to run it under cold water. It could’ve been worse, especially with sugar burns.”

Reiner nodded. “I know. Job hazard, unfortunately.”

“Oh, right. You mentioned so.” The nurse smiled, almost sheepishly. “So I don't even need to tell you.”

Reiner suddenly felt embarrassed. “I-It’s fine. I appreciate it.”

He was starting to regret letting Porco in. He would never live it down if he knew that Reiner was losing words over a nurse he had only met five minutes ago, when he should’ve been more focused on the open wound on his arm. When he glanced at Porco, however, he found that his coworker had turned towards the wall, decidedly avoiding what was coming.

“Okay, Reiner. Ready?” Gloved hands touched his forearm, a gauze hovering over the wound.

Reiner swallowed. “Yeah.”

The nurse worked quickly, efficiently, swiping over the wound repeatedly. Gauze after gauze dropped into the tray, bloodied, and Reiner grimaced as the pain seared and exploded through his right arm, forcing his fist to curl into a tight ball.

“Just a little bit more,” the nurse soothed. “You’re doing great, Reiner.”

Heat rose up Reiner’s cheeks at the praise, a sensation which was quickly overridden by the next piece of gauze. He held back a flinch.

From the corner, Porco made a gagging sound.

And then it was finally over. Reiner released the breath that he had been holding. The nurse threw the gauzes into the trash can. 

“I’m going to dress the wound now. You’ll have to do this too, daily, or it’ll get infected.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll prescribe you an antibiotic ointment…” The nurse slathered on a cool cream over Reiner’s wound and gave him a sympathetic smile when he winced. “It stings, I know. But you’ll have to do this every day, okay?” He grabbed a fresh roll of gauze and began dressing the wound. “And change the gauze too.”

“Okay.” Reiner sighed, as the wound slowly disappeared under the bandages. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The nurse stepped back, and turned to Porco. “You can turn around now. I’m done.”

Porco slowly did so, his face pale.

“There’s a water dispenser in the hallway, if you want a drink.” He nodded towards Reiner. “Go up to the front desk and pick a pharmacy for the prescription. We’ll send it over there.”

“I will.”

“Alright then. Have a good night.”

He gave Reiner one last smile before beginning to turn away.

“Wait—“ Reiner called out, against his better judgement. He should probably stop. He was in pain, inebriated, and clearly not thinking straight. But he wanted to know. “What’s your name?” 

The nurse blinked.

Reiner added, quickly, “So I know who I owe my livelihood to, when I retell this story to people.”

A laugh. “I think you’re overrating my service here, but…” The nurse clasped his hands together. “It’s Bertolt.”

“Bert—olt?”

Bertolt nodded. “Yes. Rare name, I know.” He cocked his head. “Anything else, Reiner?”

Reiner shook his head. “No. Just…” He paused. “Thank you, Bertolt.”

“Of course.” He nodded towards Reiner, then to Porco. “Good night.”

He felt a pang in his chest as Bertolt turned to leave the room. “Good night.”

* * *

“Holy shit,” Porco sighed, as they exited the urgent care. “That was disgusting.”

“You didn’t even see it.”

“Yes, but I can imagine it!” Porco gagged. “Drinking was a mistake. Why do you do this to me, Reiner?”

Reiner scowled. “Right, as if I got myself burned on purpose to torture you.”

“Are you still going to be able to work?”

Reiner sighed. The pain was subsiding, but he could tell that he wouldn’t have full agency of his right arm for a while. “Yes. Though I might need you and Colt to take on more of the duties.”

“Hey, as long as I get paid.” Porco stood across him. “You good now?”

Reiner nodded. “Yeah. Go home, Porco. You deserve it.” He gestured. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

Porco only gave him a rough pat on the back. “Sleep well.”

Reiner turned on his heel, back down the familiar street that would lead him to his small apartment. In the last eventful few hours, he had somehow forgotten that they were knee-deep in holiday season. The sight of fairy lights and families and laughing tourists jolted him back awake, to reality. The wound on his arm throbbed along to the faint chant of Christmas music.

He thought back to their conversation in the kitchen. Porco had been right, this would be the sixth Christmas he’d spend alone. Normally he wouldn’t mind. He had his family, after all. But the sight of the nurse, those olive green eyes, had thrown a wrench into his mind.

Reiner stopped in his tracks as a realization came upon him: He never got Bertolt’s number. 

He thought about turning back, but decided against it. The man was just doing his job. He was probably kind to everyone. He told himself it was just the alcohol talking, exacerbating his curiosity. In the morning, he would wake up, rejuvenated, and he would no longer ruminate over that soothing voice, or the way Bertolt’s lips curled into a kind smile. They would fade away eventually, along with the pain in his arm.

So when he woke up the next day with a pulsing pain running through his wound, and a killer headache to boot, Reiner could only grit his teeth and think back to how Bertolt had soothed him.  _ You’re doing great, Reiner _ .

Fuck. He needed to see those eyes again.


	2. Hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reiner couldn't let go of those olive green eyes. Porco's there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the credit goes to Turtle for writing this hilarious chapter.

Reiner’s feet dragged and stalled before stopping altogether. Light spilled out from the clinic window into a dawn that had not quite broken yet. He had never spared a second thought for this urgent care, passing it in the early hours nearly every day of the last five years. His mind was always busy churning over work. Not today, though. Or yesterday. Definitely not the day before. He watched, hopeful for the appearance of a tall nurse.

That is, until he made eye contact with the receptionist. He startled and forced his legs to move, keeping his head down all the way to the bakery.

It wasn’t as if there wasn’t plenty to keep him busy. As the coffee pot hissed to life, Reiner donned his jacket, wincing when it pulled on his fresh gauze. A painful reminder.

_ Idiot, _ he thought for the millionth time that week. If he had only asked for his phone number. Maybe Bertolt would have said no, but Reiner would never get to find out now, would he? A sputter drew him back to the coffee pot. Right, coffee. Morning. Work.

He flicked lights on as he went and grabbed a ball of wrapped dough from the fridge. There were orders to fill, customers to serve, and tiny holiday cookies to decorate. His fingers plied the cold dough as best he could. His arm complained at the flex of muscles beneath unhealed skin, kneading until his fingers were warm again. 

Warm like Bertolt’s fingers on his arm. Soft, like his touch. 

“I said  _ good morning!” _

Reiner jumped and Porco shook his head.

“You know the ovens aren’t on, right?”

“I — ” 

Reiner looked at the stone cold ovens. Porco started firing them up.

“It was funny at first, but now you’re kinda freaking me out.”

Heat rose to his face.

“Just — knead that,” Reiner commanded, pointing at the half worked mound on the counter. “I’m… I’m going to decorate.”

“Probably for the best,” Porco muttered.

Reiner shot him a dirty look. 

“Okay, okay,” Porco said, turning sharply to the dough.

Reiner prepared the icing, then the decorations. At some point along the way a second pot of coffee was brewed. Newly caffeinated, he bent over a naked sugar cookie tree and laid a border along its abstracted boughs. It was a lovely green icing. Olive green, almost. 

His hand faltered for the first time in years and he breathed a long sigh through his nose. It looked just like those eyes.

_ Shit. _

He looked down to find the worst line of royal icing he had ever seen, much less personally been responsible for. 

“ — should we do something?”

“I’ve tried. It’s been like this all week.”

Reiner straightened and turned to find Colt and Porco shamelessly staring.

“Are you talking about me?”

“Look who came back to earth.”

“I’m right here.”

Porco scoffed. Colt fidgeted nervously.

“Do you want me to do those?” Colt offered; a feeble attempt to help.

Reiner blocked his decorating station defensively.

“Ok, you know what, we’re going over there,” Porco declared.

“What?” Reiner squeaked. 

“Colt, knead that dough. We’ll be right back.”

“We will not — ”

“Yeah, we will.”

“Porco — ”

“Reiner.”

Porco reached for the icing bag. Reiner retracted. 

_ “Reiner.” _

“It’s my bakery!”

“If you don’t burn it down! Actually, you won’t even do that because you’ve forgotten to turn on the ovens. _ Three days in a row.” _

“We can’t — I can’t — ”

Porco narrowed his eyes and widened his stance. Reiner scoffed. What was he going to do, fight him for it?

“Give me the icing, Reiner,” Porco said, low and even.

Reiner clung to it. He could take him. Colt began kneading the dough, pretending not to watch the scene unfolding. Porco tried again, somewhat more diplomatically.

“Look, why don’t we bring him some cookies? Call it a thank you gift. You can’t be zoning out like this. Not a week away from Christmas.”

Well... he  _ had _ been distracted lately. And the holidays were not exactly the best time to lose focus. Reiner slowly lowered the bag. 

“There we go,” Porco mumbled, condescendingly. He set the bag on the counter and took a long look at the ruined tree, surrounded by undone cookies. “Maybe not  _ these _ , though.”

Reiner couldn’t even dispute that.

The air was crisp when Porco shoved him past the front door of the shop. Reiner resisted squeezing the newly packed box of goodies into a dust. 

“Why do you care?” Reiner asked, in a last ditch effort to throw Porco as they approached the clinic. 

“I don’t. I’m trying to save us all from hearing about year  _ six _ .”

“What’s one more? I won’t complain, I promise. Porco — ”

Reiner was cut off by the chime of the door. Porco forced him through, catching him by the elbow and leading him straight to the front desk. Reiner avoided eye contact with the receptionist. 

“Excuse me. Yeah, is there a nurse here? Tall? Dark hair? Like, really tall. We’ve got a gift for him.” 

_ Please, _ Reiner thought, despite himself. 

“Oh, you must mean Bertolt.” 

They both nodded.  _ Please.  _ She smiled sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry, he doesn’t work here anymore.”

Reiner’s heart dropped so hard it should have thudded on the linoleum floor. 

“Where does he work?” he blurted out.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, “I can’t tell you that.”

No. That couldn’t be right. He was supposed to be here, not gone in the wind without even one clue. Reiner should at least have the chance to get rejected.

Porco pulled the widest smile he could muster and asked, sweetly: “Can you tell us his last name?”

Reiner could kiss that man. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought. But still.

His charm seemed to work. “I guess so,” the receptionist said, sheepishly. “Hoover. Bertolt Hoover.”

_ Hoover.  _

_ Bertolt Hoover. _

* * *

Reiner was a man on a mission. His fingers stumbled over the keyboard, clumsy and slow because when was the last time his fingers weren’t buried in a goddamn pastry? He hit backspace again and again and  —

“Damnit, how the  _ fuck _ do you spell Bertolt?”

Having his last name had been far less help than Reiner had hoped. Unless, of course, the possible love of his life was a vacuum. 

“The fuck would I know?” Porco cried out, running a hand through his hair. “Try it with an ‘h’ again.”

“I  _ tried _ that! Look, why the fuck — ”

“I don’t know!”

Porco took a swig of wine. He had given up entirely on using a glass. Reiner reached for his own bottle. A knock sounded at the door. Porco’s sigh of relief could only be described as dramatic.

“Thank  _ god. _ Marcel is here.”

“Marcel?”

“And Annie.”

_ “And _ Annie?”

“She’s a cop,” Porco said, hand on the door knob.

“So?”

“So, she can help us!”

Reiner opened his mouth to retort but decided against it. Perhaps he was getting delirious, drunk, or both, but that was not the worst idea he had ever heard come out of Porco’s mouth. A sharp breeze hit Reiner’s wine-warm cheeks.

Marcel stepped into the apartment, a greeting dying on his lips. He looked between them suspiciously.

“Are you guys drunk?”

“No,” Reiner and Porco said together.

Marcel smiled as Annie joined him inside. She made no comments, though, only raising an eyebrow at them. Reiner stood and offered a hand.

“Reiner.”

Annie looked down her nose at it and then ignored it.

“Do you own actual glasses,” she asked.

Reiner dropped his outstretched hand and straightened his back.

“Uh. In the kitchen, sure.”

“Here, let me,” Marcel offered with a kiss to her cheek that she made no outward sign of enjoying. “Reiner, do you have any...” he paused, glancing between Reiner and Porco once more, “...unopened bottles?”

“Kitchen,” Reiner repeated with a small nod.

Annie glanced around the apartment, analyzing. If Reiner had to guess, he would say she was wholly unimpressed. 

“Porco told me you’re a cop,” he tried after a very quiet minute.

“Yep.”

Crickets. Porco stepped in.

“Ok, but like, say we were trying to find someone. But we only had his name. Would you know what to do?”

“Probably.”

They waited patiently for an elaboration that never came. Marcel reappeared with two glasses of white wine that Reiner only kept at his apartment to be polite. He scooted his half finished bottle of red further back on the desk. Porco took another swig of his, apparently less concerned with looking civilized. He was also more drunk than Reiner. 

“I heard you found yourself a cute nurse, Reiner,” Marcel said with a smirk. Reiner sank back to the desk chair.

“Yeah, but then his dumb ass had to go and lose him,” Porco answered.

Reiner groaned and ran a hand over his face. It did nothing to slow Porco down.

“We gotta find this guy, Marcel. Look at him. And you should see him at the bakery.” 

Porco waved a hand at Reiner. Reiner glared. 

“What year will this be? Six?”

They all turned to Annie in surprise. She took a pointed sip from her  _ glass. _

Reiner moved his glare to settle on Marcel, who refused eye contact.

“So, when’re you bringing someone home, Porco?” Marcel deflected. 

“I — ” Porco cleared his throat. “This is about Reiner! Annie, come on, what would you do? If you were looking for a perp?”

She cocked an eyebrow. Again.

“Is that who you’re looking for? A  _ perp?” _

Reiner watched silently; horrified, but also oddly… hopeful?

“No — I —  come on, you know what I mean.”

“I guess we might get a composite done,” she finally supplied. Reiner sighed.

“Ok, look, that’s not — ”

“Marcel! You could do that!”

Porco stabbed a finger at his brother enthusiastically. It had been a while since Reiner had seen him this fired up. He had  _ definitely _ been watching too many rom coms lately. Possibly CSI, too.

“I’m a landscape painter,” Marcel replied, flatly.

“Oh. Right.”

Reiner wished he could say that it was a productive evening. That Annie had provided any additional information and that they had magically solved the case and that he could track down Bertolt the next day to get rejected in person and not by an information gap. At the very least, he could finish out his sixth year in style. Instead, he was staring down the nearly empty bottle of cabernet as Marcel and Annie filed out of his apartment after a rather uneventful night of catching up and promising to grab brunch in the near future.

Green eyes. Gone green eyes. He sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time. Porco retrieved the unfinished white wine from the kitchen. Reiner looked at him with concern.

“Why don’t you stay here?”

“I’m  _ fine.” _

“You’re drunk.”

Porco glanced away. His cheeks were, frankly, an embarrassing shade of pink, flushed with wine. 

“Here,” Reiner said, “I’ll get you — ”

“I’m fine. I know where your shit is,” Porco spat.

“Alright, fine. I’m going to bed.”

“But we haven’t found him!”

Reiner stared at Porco in bewilderment. 

“And we’re not going to. It’s over. I fucked up. I should’ve got his number, but I didn’t and that’s that. Here’s to year six.”

He made an empty toast and drained the last of his bottle before turning and retreating to his bedroom. Porco only rolled his eyes. Anything after that, Reiner wouldn’t know, because he promptly slipped into his room and collapsed on his bed.

It’s fine. He didn’t need the distraction, after all. What he needed was a positive review from the Mayor, or a mention in a famous blog. What was another year?

* * *

“Reiner. Reiner.”

A hand shook him. Reiner groaned.

“Reiner!”

“What?” he barked. He tried to push the voice away, but his hand only flopped at the edge of his bed. 

“I found him!”

Reiner bolted right up.

“What?”

“Yeah! Get dressed! Yeah, you thought it was all fucked, didn’t you?” Porco taunted as Reiner threw off his covers.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. Still, he got up and shuffled to his closet.

“Well,” Porco said, “you can thank me at the wedding.”

Reiner rolled his eyes. Then paused, jeans in hand. 

“What time is it, anyway?”

“Just after one,” Porco replied proudly.

“Oh my god,” Reiner breathed. He dropped the pants straight on the floor and sank back to his sweet, sweet mattress.

“No —  Hey, get up!”

“And  _ what,” _ he asked into the pillow. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, ok, but see, your prince charming, that’s the thing. He does a night shift at this club.”

_ Maybe I’ll just suffocate myself, _ Reiner thought, shoving his face further into the pillow. “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s like a ten minute cab ride! Let’s do it. Get  _ up.” _

Reiner scoffed and rolled onto his back. 

“What’s gotten into you? You hate my love life. Hell, sometimes I think you hate me.”

He turned his head and got a clear view of his, god knows how, closest friend. Porco looked genuinely offended.

“I don’t hate you, asshole,” Porco countered.

_ Touching. _

“Fine. Let’s go. It’s not like I was sleeping or anything,” Reiner said sarcastically.

“Good, get dressed.”

Reiner shook his head and dragged actual clothing back onto his body. This was by far the stupidest thing he had done in years. They had to be at the bakery in less than five hours.  _ His _ bakery. 

_ Damn it, Porco, _ he thought, not for the first time.

It was cold. It was windy. It was miserable. All Reiner could think about was that there was a chance, slim as it may be, to see him. Had he lost his mind? At what point in the last week had his brain and body been taken over by the memory of Bertolt’s soft touch? His sweet voice. Oh, who was he kidding, the nurse probably didn't even remember him. 

“This is a bad — ”

Porco shoved him into the cab and issued directions to the driver. Buildings, still lit, rolled by slowly. Reiner wasn’t even very drunk any more. He sort of wished he was, though. 

“Why would he even be on a night shift?” Reiner questioned, leaning his forehead into the cold window. “And how much more have you had to drink?”

“People need money, Reiner. We don’t know his life.”

“How did you find this out, anyway?”

“Through my superior Googling skills. By the way, do you know how painful it was to watch you type?”

Reiner clenched his fist.

“Tell me why we are going to a club in the middle of a work night, so help me Porco, or else we are stopping right here and you will be kneading dough all day tomorrow.”

Porco turned up his nose and sniffed.

“I don’t know where your sense of adventure went.”

“Ok, sir, excuse me? Yes, can you pull over?”

“You want me to stop,” the driver challenged, unamused with the antics in the backseat.

“No,” Porco growled. “Fine. Look, I saw him in the background of Colt’s snapchat.”

“You're friends with Colt on Snapchat?”

“Sure.”

“What’s Colt doing out on a work night?”

“I don’t know,” Porco raised up his hands, “Having a life? It  _ is _ a Friday.”

“How do you even know it was Bertolt?”

After all, Reiner thought, hadn’t Porco spent half of the time specifically  _ not _ looking at Reiner’s wound and subsequent treatment? Porco only scoffed.

Reiner rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. This could not possibly work, and yet his heart rate picked up as the car rolled to a stop. Hope reignited inside him despite the fact that he had fully woken up by now and was seriously reconsidering certain life choices. There was a bustle of people around the door and pumping music. 

This was it. He really had lost his mind. All over one nurse who he pleaded silently, beyond logic or reason, that Porco had in fact seen in Colt’s snaps. 

The moment they stepped inside, Reiner suddenly hoped, with equal desperation, that Porco was wrong. 

_ Does Colt really go to places like this? _

He looked around, bewildered.

“Where’s Colt,” was all he could think to say. Well, shout.

“I don’t know, moved on or gone home probably. It’s a work night,” Porco yelled back over the most unfortunate Christmas remix Reiner had ever heard in his life. Seriously, what  _ was _ this place? Was he really this out of touch? He also sent a withered look to Porco who seemed to not realize the irony in his statement.

“Look!”

Porco pointed across the crowded room. Reiner followed his finger, directed right at one of the male… dancers.

He’s going to kill Porco. 

“That is  _ not _ him.”

Porco squinted.

“Huh. Yeah, now that I see him.”

They stood there, jostled relentlessly by the young crowd. Reiner checked the time and frowned. It was only a few hours before he would normally be waking up for work and he was not twenty-one any more. 

_ Obviously, _ he thought as his eyes swept the scene once more. Great, not only was he loveless for a  _ sixth _ year, now he was an old man too. Porco’s earlier comment had not helped. Where had the days gone when they would get shit faced and go to class the next morning together? Who was he and when had his entire life become consumed by buttery, flaky consumables? 

“Shot?” he shouted. 

Porco’s smirk was insufferable.

“It’s on me.”

* * *

Reiner’s feet dragged. Porco groaned beside him. The showers had barely helped and there was no doubt about it  — they were still drunk. Reiner already could barely remember the hours prior. At some point the weird Christmas club mix had gone from unbearable to their own personal karaoke while they had to hold each other up. 

Dawn threatened as they slumped past the urgent care. A dark haired nurse with a lazy smile sat at the front desk, shuffling papers, and Reiner had half a thought to go ask if she knew Bertolt Hoover. He shook it off. The charade was up. He would just spend years six through forever alone, surrounded by sugar. It was fine. Really. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he muttered under his breath. 

Porco was so tired, he didn’t even have a snarky remark prepared, only an incoherent grumble. They passed the clinic by and trudged on. 

As they approached the bakery, Reiner could see the lights already on. 

_ Shit _ . They were late.

Porco and Reiner both sighed in relief at the smell of coffee on the other side of the door. Colt appeared, two steaming mugs in hand and eyebrows raised at their baggy eyes and slouched posture.

“How are you so fucking awake?” Porco demanded. 

Reiner accepted his beverage with a little more grace.

“Thanks, Colt. I think… We’ll be there in a minute ok?”

He slumped into the nearest table alongside Porco and checked his bandages. It was an alright job this morning for someone still inebriated, but not half as good as when Bertolt had done it. Not even close. 

Reiner closed his eyes and took the first sip of what would be a long, coffee-fueled day.


	3. Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Pengi for this excellent chapter!!

Reiner was jostled for what must be the fourth time in the last half hour. He sighed. At least this time he wouldn’t be nursing a terrible hangover by the next morning.

“Reiner, come on!” Gabi’s hand tugged at him. “Let’s get closer!”

“Alright…” he sighed. “Don’t let go of me, Gabi.”

Reiner squeezed her hand, just to be sure. The plaza was chock-full with tourists and families, all crowding the giant display of lights that was the city’s flagship Christmas tree. Every year Gabi insisted on coming to see it, even when it hadn’t changed for as long as Reiner could remember. He would never admit that he’d rather stay at home or do other things, though. If Gabi wanted something, Reiner would do his best to cater to it — much to the relief of their mother, who had sauntered off to do some shopping on her own.

“Let’s take a selfie, Reiner!”

A phone was pressed into his other hand. Reiner hid a grimace as he tried, as best as he could, to hold the phone in such a way that he could fit both of them _and_ the tree in one frame. It proved an almost impossible feat. Someone bumped into him, almost knocking the phone out of his hand. Gabi immediately grabbed onto it protectively.

“Geez, don’t drop my phone!” She looked through the photos, disgruntled. “I’m barely in these, Reiner.”

He groaned. “It’s too crowded.”

“No, your arm is too short!” Gabi chided, pinching his bicep. “Maybe if you didn’t bulk up so much punching all that dough…”

“That’s not even how it works,” Reiner retorted, pinching her cheeks in return. “Come on, we’ll ask Mom to take a picture of us later. _Away_ from this crowd.”

Gabi pouted. She opened her mouth to protest, but a sudden flash of lights and blare of Christmas music drowned her words. The crowd cheered around them. 

Gabi’s eyes widened. She turned towards the tree excitedly. “It’s starting, Reiner, it’s starting!”

The music broke into a dramatic crescendo, accompanied by a gradient of colors washing over the entire tree. The lights show had started. Children ooh'ed and aah’ed as the lights changed colors and intensities, timed perfectly to the beat of _Joy to the World_. Gabi stared, transfixed.

Reiner smiled. Even if the show was stale to him by now, that look on Gabi’s face never would be.

He couldn’t help but think back to a few nights ago, when he was similarly basked in colorful neon lights and pushed around by the crowd. Except he was much drunker. And sadder. By the third shot that night, the dancer really _had_ started to look like Bertolt. 

“Wouldn’t it have been so cool, if it really was him?” Porco had shouted, over the music. “You'd be dating a nurse moonlighting as a club dancer! And to think I could've been the one who helped get you two together… It’d be just like the movies!”

Reiner didn't dare ask what bottom-of-the-barrel romcoms Porco had resorted to watching. Anyway. He'd rather forget that night, when he foolishly thought he could overcome the cruel onslaught of age, as well as the cold reality of how unlikely it is to have another serendipitous encounter in a city this big.

Oh man. He really _was_ a drag during the holiday season.

The music began to dwindle, the lights stilling on the tree. Gabi sighed dreamily. “I wish I could watch that all year.”

Reiner smiled. "If you could, it wouldn’t be special anymore.”

“Says you. I would never get bored of it.”

“Like you don’t get bored of your games every few months or so?”

Gabi jeered. “If I didn’t get bored of them, then you would run out of ideas for Christmas gifts. Speaking of which, I better get a good one this year!”

“Oh, definitely. I ordered a very special lump of coal from this mine…”

Gabi kicked him. Reiner laughed. “Come on. Let’s go find Mom.”

“Not yet!” She pointed towards the other end of the plaza. “They put up a winter wonderland diorama over there. Let’s check it out.”

But it was almost impossible to. At least the Christmas tree was over 12 feet tall, towering over all of them, and easy to see. The diorama was too low. It was completely blocked by similarly eager children and their families. Reiner could barely break through to give Gabi a look. 

She bristled. “They really should’ve made a line or something. This is barbaric.”

Reiner laughed. “You’re not wrong, but…” He squatted down. “Come on. I think I have another solution.”

Gabi cheered as she practically threw herself onto Reiner’s back. Reiner groaned. “Careful! I’m still an injured man, you know.”

“You burned yourself on your _arm_ , idiot. Two weeks ago.” She whistled when Reiner stood up, carefully balancing her on his shoulders. “Wow, Reiner, it’s so pretty! Can you see it?”

Reiner shook his head. “Describe it to me.”

“Well, it has these snowy mountains, and a train going around it… Oh, and cute little houses!”

Reiner nodded along as Gabi chattered away. He slowly walked around the exhibit as she commanded, insisting that she had to see it from all angles. He made eye contact with another man trapped in a similar fate. They exchanged a sympathetic smile. 

Now Reiner couldn’t help but look towards the rest of the crowd for a distraction until Gabi had her fill. He stared across the endless sea of heads and beanies, all blending together. Reiner considered himself a tall man, and yet even he barely would’ve stood out in this crowd. The only ones that poked through were children, perched high on shoulders, and—

Hm. A tall man. Even in this sea of people, Reiner would’ve been able to see his face quite clearly, if he only turned around. It reminded him of— 

No. Reiner had promised he would face reality. Two percent of the world’s population around his age stood at above six feet and three inches. Yes, he looked it up. That may not sound like much, but he’s sure that it still translated into many people — too many to allow for another silly meet-cute.

Still, the scar on his arm pulsed. Reiner circled around the exhibit again at Gabi’s command. He kept his gaze on the tall man, curiosity itching at his brain. He began to see glimpses of the man’s features — his ears, his cheekbones, his nose, and then…

His eyes.

Reiner almost dropped Gabi altogether. She squeaked. “Reiner, what’s wrong?”

Bertolt turned to leave. Reiner had to think fast. There was no time to be indecisive, or be dignified. He looked up at Gabi.

“Wanna go on a little bit of an adventure before we meet up with Mom?”

Her eyes lit up. She needed no explanation. “Duh.”

Reiner grinned. “Okay, slide down to my back. You’re going for a ride.”

Gabi didn’t need to be asked twice. Reiner secured the piggyback and launched off, half-jogging and half-ducking around the crowds of people. He kept his eyes locked on the target — no, that sounded creepy — the prize — _no_ , that sounded even worse—

Gabi let out squeals of glee on his back, completely oblivious.

 _What is he doing?_ Reiner thought, as he continued to push through the crowd. He wasn’t getting any closer to Bertolt, but he was still hot on his tail. This really seemed like borderline stalker behavior. What would Porco’s romcoms say about this? And what’s he going to say to Bertolt once he caught up? That was, _if_ he could catch up. The weather and Gabi’s extra weight were really putting off his cardio game.

Suddenly, Bertolt stopped at the border of the plaza. He smiled brightly, hand raised in a wave. Greeting someone Reiner couldn’t see yet. He immediately came to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” Gabi whined, poking him on the side. “I was having fun!”

“Shh,” Reiner muttered. “Hang on. Give me a second to catch my breath.”

Gabi snorted, but didn’t say anything further. Reiner watched closely through the bustle, as Bertolt walked a few steps forward to meet the mystery person. Again some sort of familiarity struck through Reiner. The person — the woman — came into view, pulling Bertolt into a hug.

It’s his mother. Reiner gaped. Now he really was frozen in place.

Bertolt and Karina seemed to be exchanging pleasantries. Reiner debated whether to join them — after all, that was his mother that Bertolt was talking to. The missing piece of the puzzle had literally been under his nose the entire time. He could just walk a few feet forward, introduce himself nicely — nonchalantly — maybe say, _Oh! Aren’t you that nurse from the urgent care? How crazy is it that we’re meeting again, here of all places—_

“Hey, it’s Mom!” Gabi’s voice brought him back to reality. Her hand left Reiner’s shoulder to presumably wave at her. “Mom! Hey! We’re here—“

Instinctively, Reiner dropped his hold so that Gabi slid down to the ground, her hand dissolving into the crowd.

Gabi gawked at him. “Why did you drop me like that?”

Reiner didn’t even know. Karina was their _mother_ , of course it would be totally normal and not stalker-ish to approach her and Bertolt. But the thought of actually having to talk and (ugh) _flirt_ with Bertolt in front of his little sister and mother flooded him with a panic he hadn’t felt since he asked out his first date in high school. Reiner was ready to be rejected, but he wasn’t ready to be humiliated in front of his family.

No. He had to play this cool. He’d ask Karina later, very casually, for Bertolt’s contact. It would work. He’s the master of his universe. _You’re doing great, Reiner._

“Is it the cute guy she’s talking to?”

Never mind.

Reiner stared at Gabi, accusingly. “How do you know that? Have you been talking to Porco?”

Gabi scowled. “Why would I talk to your grumpy dough lackey?”

“Then how?”

“You’ve been acting pretty stupid this past two weeks, Reiner. Ever since you got that burn.” She snorted. “The last time I saw you spacing out and doing weird things is when you were lovesick. Let’s just say I have an inkling.”

Was he really that transparent? 

“Wow. You really got me.”

“I mean, it was just a guess. But you didn’t even try to deny it.”

Reiner grimaced. He really did roll over too quickly.

“So who is he?” Gabi asked, perking up. “Actually, never mind. I want to see this unfold in real time.” She grabbed Reiner’s hand. “Let’s go talk to them. I won’t make fun of you, I promise.” She added, as an afterthought: “Well, maybe a little bit.”

Reiner tugged back, stopping them. “But Mom is there.”

Gabi stared at him as if he was the twelve-year-old. “So…? She’ll be rooting for you. Hell, she’ll probably eat that guy alive if he rejects you.”

“Exactly.”

Gabi sighed. “Reiner. Just ask him out. It’s no big deal.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And you know this because…”

Her face suddenly reddened. “Just— from movies and stuff—“

“Uh-huh.” Reiner bent down, staring at her closely. “Tell Falco I’m onto him if he hurts my baby sister.”

Gabi’s blush deepened. “Cringe,” she muttered.

Reiner sighed. He guessed he really did need to step up his own game.

“Come on,” he said, holding Gabi’s hand. “Let’s go. Time to face my fears.”

She squeezed back. “He won’t say no, Reiner. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not up to me.”

They pushed through and broke out of the crowd. Reiner blinked. His mother was standing there on the edge of the plaza, alone, with no Bertolt in sight.

“Mom!”

Gabi broke free and ran towards Karina. They shared a hug.

“There you are!” Karina exclaimed. “Good thing I don’t have to look too long for you two! This place is too crowded.”

Reiner looked around. “Where’s—“ He couldn’t even get the words out. No. Not again. Did he just lose Bertolt a second time?

“Reiner wants to know where the cute guy went.”

Reiner’s mouth fell open. “Gabi!”

“Cute guy?”

“The one you were talking to.”

“Oh!” Karina’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh my. Bertolt? You like him?”

Before Reiner could defend himself, Karina was gushing into a monologue. “Oh my goodness. This is perfect! I’ve been _dying_ to get you two to meet. Isn’t he just _handsome_ ? I keep dropping hints that I have a handsome son, too— a _single_ handsome son, and—“

“Mom,” Reiner groaned. “You’ve been talking about me to him?”

“Oh, Mom does that to every cute guy we meet.”

“ _What_? Mom!”

“Hush,” Karina tutted, scowling. “What’s wrong with wanting my son to not be alone for the sixth time in a row?”

Reiner threw up his hands. “Has _everyone_ been keeping count?”

Karina and Gabi shared a look. “I mean, you talk about it every year…”

“Alright, alright!” Reiner decided he needed to get to the crux of it. “Mom, how do you know Bertolt?”

“He used to go to my book club.”

“The… romance book club?”

“Yes, there’s nothing wrong with a man liking the genre.” Karina beamed. “You can already tell he’s going to be a romantic. Oh, now I wish I had gotten his number. He stopped going since he started that new job.“

Reiner’s stomach did a double flip. New job. He tried to swallow down his hope when he asked: “Do you happen to know where?”

 _Please_ , he still thought, despite himself. _Please._

Karina beamed.

“As a matter of fact,” she said. “He did mention it to me.”

* * *

“So you’re saying that your _mother_ knows him from her book club?“

Reiner nodded. “Romance book club, no less.”

Porco stared expectantly. Reiner sighed. 

“I’ll ask my mother if you can join, Porco. Now can we please get back to my issue?”

“I mean, what is there to discuss? Go get him!”

Reiner groaned. “I can’t just walk into his new workplace and demand to talk to him. I would look like a stalker.”

“So? It’s for love! And—” Porco gestured towards the window, where soft snow is falling and clinging to the pavement. “It’s Christmas Eve. The most perfect time to confess.”

“This isn’t a romcom, Porco.”

“It could be, if you’re not a coward.”

Reiner gestured towards Colt. “Can’t you defend me here?”

Colt shrugged, sheepishly. “I don’t know, Reiner, maybe you’ll be out of your misery sooner if you can see him again, and…” He tapped the piece of paper where Reiner had jotted down the clinic’s address. “It’s not far from here.”

He groaned. “I’d have to explain that I coerced my mother into giving up that info. I can’t—”

“Alright then,” Porco said, his voice suddenly low and determined. He turned to the counter and unsheathed a knife, the blade sliding off shrilly. 

Reiner and Colt jumped back. “What are you doing with that?”

“Giving you a reason to go to the clinic.” 

“Porco—“

“Stay put, Reiner, this will take a second!”

“Oh my god. You really are unhinged. I should’ve done a better background check—”

“Shut up!”

Porco moved forward. Reiner and Colt stepped back accordingly. They circled the tiny kitchen, slowly.

“Porco,” Reiner started again. “Calm down — put the knife away—“

“It’ll be quick. Just relax.”

Porco seemed to be convincing himself more than anyone else. His face was whitening by the minute. 

“Just a small scratch,” he mumbled. “On your hand, maybe.”

“Not on my hand! That’s my livelihood, you idiot—“

“Guys,” Colt said, nervously. “I don’t think this is the right way to go about this…”

“Give us a better idea then, Colt!” Porco said, waving the knife at him. “How else can we send this idiot to the clinic?”

“He can just walk in—“

“No, I’ll look creepy!”

“See? It’s the knife, then. Give me your arm!”

Reiner grimaced. He couldn’t help but suddenly think this was an _okay_ idea. Maybe not the knife, though. “Why can’t you just kick me in the shin or something? Or maybe I can fake a cold?”

“Those are boo boos, not clinic-worthy injuries. Now stay still!”

Reiner narrowed his eyes. He was suddenly struck by a way to get out of this. Determined, he marched to the counter and slammed his good arm on the surface. He rolled his sleeve up. 

“Fine. Do it.” He drew a line with his finger, just above his elbow. “There. Go do your thing.”

Porco approached, hesitantly. His face was pale as a ghost now. Colt’s complaints were ignored in the background.

The knife raised, before clattering onto the countertop. Porco was suddenly bent over the sink, gagging.

“Never mind,” he gasped. “I forgot I couldn’t even dissect a frog.”

Reiner sighed and rolled down his sleeve. Colt looked absolutely relieved.

“Come on,” Reiner said. “Let’s all just go home. We had a long day, and it’s Christmas Eve.” He gathered Colt and Porco under his arms and gave them a squeeze. “Thank you for listening to me, but I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Porco scowled. “You mean, you won’t do anything about it and we’ll get to hear you cry about how lonely you are again.”

“Yeah, well, maybe all this has taught me that I should just be happy with being alone. And that I shouldn’t try so hard to change it.” Reiner released them, walking backwards dramatically. “Maybe I’ll start going to the book club. Maybe Bertolt will go again at some point. And if not, well…” He spread his arms wide. “Then so be it! I have to find peace within myself. I can’t ply reality into whatever I want. Life is not dough. I have to accept things as they are.” He nodded to himself. “I’m doing great.”

Porco leaned in towards Colt. “Now look who’s unhinged.”

Reiner flipped him off and turned around briskly. “Well. Merry Christmas and—“

He walked right into the doorway.

There was a sharp ache. Reiner blinked. When did he become this clumsy? Or had he outgrown his tiny kitchen? He really needed to upgrade to a bigger space. Damn this city and its high rental prices.

“Are you okay?” Colt exclaimed, rushing to his side.

Reiner touched his forehead. “Yeah. I think so.”

Colt looked stunned. Reiner stared at him, bewildered. “What?”

“Reiner.” Porco’s voice was shaking. “Reiner, I think you’re bleeding.”

“No I’m not—“

But Reiner could feel it now. His hand was speckled with red. And he could feel warmth, building to his forehead at first, then gushing out like a faucet, trickling down his face. He stared at the door frame that he had run into, the sharp metal corner glinting back at him.

“Not again!”

“This kitchen is cursed, I’m telling you—“

“The urgent care! Now!”

“No—“ Porco grabbed onto the sheet of paper where Reiner had jotted down Bertolt’s new workplace. “To the clinic on 34th. Now!”

He grabbed Reiner by the arm and started pushing him out of the store. Colt yelled after them: “He can’t run with a head wound, Porco!”

“Damn it,” he seethed, grabbing a random rag cloth and shoving it into Reiner’s hand. “Squeeze that against your head, you big lug. I’m calling a cab.”

The journey was fuzzy. Reiner didn’t really know how Porco managed to wrangle him into a cab. All he saw was the bright concoction of Christmas lights flashing by, mixing into one, and then—

Warm lights of a waiting room. Reiner sat there, dazed, staring. This must be Bertolt’s clinic. Porco sat down next to him. He looked jittery.

“They’ll see you soon. You’re lucky they take walk-ins.” His leg was bopping, up and down. It was making Reiner dizzier. “Can you believe we’re here? Oh my god.”

“Porco,” Reiner groaned. “How are you this… alert?”

“Well, for one, I chugged two cups of the free coffee and I’m _actively_ terrified of your face right now, so…“ He looked around, nervously. “God. Please let this Bertolt guy be here, so I can shove you into his hands and be free—“

“Reiner Braun!”

They jumped up to their feet.

But Reiner quickly registered that the voice was harsher. Also — female. Not Bertolt’s. Reiner felt his heart sink.

He and Porco shared a disappointed look.

“Here,” Reiner mumbled.

The nurse — a freckled woman with a small ponytail — raised her eyebrows at him. “Bar mishap?”

“I wish. Walked into a door.”

She smirked. “Follow me.”

“I’ll stay here,” Porco mumbled, looking dejected.

Reiner trailed after the nurse. Maybe it was the loss of blood loosening his guard, but it suddenly felt like a good idea to blurt out: “Do you happen to have a coworker named Bertolt? Bertolt Hoover?”

The nurse frowned, letting him into the patient room. “We don’t give out names here.”

“But—“ Reiner sat down on the chair. “I know him. _Sort of._ I just—“

“We don’t give out names here,” the nurse said, firmly. She swatted Reiner’s bloodied rag away from his temple. “Now let’s take a look at the wound.”

He ended up getting stitches. Stitches! But no Bertolt. It didn’t seem like a fair exchange.

The nurse worked effectively and quickly, explaining what she was doing in clear and concise terms. Still, it was different from his experience at the urgent care. Bertolt had offered encouragement, a smile, reassurance. There was not so much here.

Reiner couldn’t help but feel ungrateful. After all, he was the one who stupidly slashed open his forehead on Christmas Eve, and this woman was spending the night stitching him up. He thanked her profusely when she finished.

“You’re welcome,” she sighed. “Try not to walk into any more door frames.”

Reiner shook his head. “Oh, I’m going straight to bed after this.”

He meant it. No more shenanigans. He had missed Bertolt — what, three times now? This was truly fate saying that it was enough, that they were simply not meant to be.

 _But then,_ Reiner thought, as he walked back to the waiting room, _why would fate keep giving him these ins, these close calls?_ First, Reiner had spotted Bertolt amongst a crowd of thousands, then, Bertolt had apparently known his mother, and _then_ he had the fortune — misfortune — of running into a door frame that he had safely avoided for the past five years, all so that he could end up in this clinic. Was he even delusional to think that maybe there would be one more twist, one more Christmas miracle?

Reiner stopped in his tracks as he arrived at that thought. Not because it was particularly enlightened, but because at the same moment, his eyes caught sight of something familiar: the back of a man’s head — dark haired — the same one he saw at the plaza. 

And the man was wearing scrubs.

Reiner’s heart pounded. The male nurse was crouching over a chair so Reiner couldn’t gauge his height. But as he approached, closer and closer, he could hear the warm tone of his voice, silky and soothing.

“… Just keep your head between your legs, and take a deep breath. Yes, just like that…”

Before Reiner could stop himself, he was standing next to the mystery man. Who the nurse was talking to was not much of a mystery though. Porco sat in the chair, head between his legs, groaning.

The nurse looked up. Olive green eyes. 

Reiner felt his heart jolt up to his throat.

“Oh,” Bertolt said, a smile spreading across his lips, reaching his eyes. “Reiner… right?”

He remembered his name. He remembered his name!

Reiner simply gawked like a guppy.

Bertolt stood up, looming over Reiner. He looked sheepish. “I thought you’d be here… I recognize your friend from last time.”

Another pause. _Say something!_

“Uh,” Reiner said, dumbly. “Yeah. Um. Did something happen here?”

Bertolt looked down at Porco. “He’s just a little light-headed. I think he drank too much coffee at once, and he said he’s woozy from seeing blood…” He glanced at Reiner’s shirt, stained partially red. “Wow. Your cut does seem pretty serious.”

“Yeah,” Reiner pointed to his forehead. “Needed stitches.”

“Oh no.” Bertolt touched the gauze. Reiner suddenly thought he’d better put his head between his legs too. “Accident at work again?”

He forced himself to breath. “Yep. I’m a clumsy one.”

Bertolt tilted his head. “You didn’t go to the urgent care?”

Uh-oh.

“I—“ Reiner struggled to find a good excuse. “I was out delivering things when this happened. This clinic just happens to be nearby.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you also work here.”

“Oh, I just changed jobs.”

Act like this is new information. _Act like this is new information!_

“Wow!” Reiner exclaimed, way too loudly. Porco hissed to his side. “That’s a crazy coincidence.”

Bertolt blinked.

“I mean, what are the chances?” Reiner babbled on. He could feel his face getting hot. “In a city this big?”

Bertolt shrugged, clasping his hands together. “Just our luck, I guess.”

Reiner swallowed. “Just our luck.”

There was an awkward silence. Bertolt rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said. “I better get back to work. I don’t want to hold you up.”

What? Wait. Not again.

“Take all the time you need, of course.” Bertolt smiled, kindly. “I don’t want either of you to faint on the way home.”

No. Wait.

He gave them one last nod, turning to leave. “Good night, you two.”

Bertolt walked away.

“Wait!”

The word had escaped his mouth before he could even stop himself. Again, it was way too loud. Porco groaned; the receptionist shushed angrily. But Reiner couldn’t falter now. Porco, Gabi and Colt had been right — he needed to just go for it. End his misery.

With that in mind, he marched up to Bertolt, who was caught off-guard.

“Do you want to…” Reiner said, blurting it all in one go. “Not leave it up to luck anymore?”

That must be the worst way he had ever asked someone out. Bertolt blinked, confused. “Huh?”

“I mean meet again,” Reiner clarified. No going back now. “Somewhere else. Hopefully not somewhere I have to be stitched up.”

Bertolt’s eyes widened. “You mean like a date?”

Reiner nodded, quickly.

A pause. Dread began to rise in Reiner. _Here it is,_ he thought. _The cold blade of rejection, coming to stab him through the—_

“Yes.” 

Reiner blinked.

Bertolt looked flustered. Pink tinged his tanned cheeks. He nodded, almost eagerly, even if his eyes didn’t quite meet Reiner’s. “Yes, I’d like that. I mean, to see you again.”

It was Reiner’s turn to blush. 

“Oh.”

Bertolt coughed. “I don’t have my phone with me right now, but… maybe you can take down my number?”

“Right. Right, of course—“ Reiner took his phone out so quickly it almost flew off. “Uh. Here.”

Bertolt typed in his number. The phone slid back into Reiner’s hand. Their fingers touched minutely, and Reiner almost dropped his phone.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He didn’t even realize that he was grinning like an idiot.

Bertolt was also smiling, though. Up close, it looked even more charming. Reiner wondered, briefly, how it would feel to kiss that smile.

No, he was getting ahead of himself. He should probably take his leave. But it didn’t seem like Bertolt was in a rush to leave either.

They stood there, stupefied, until someone cleared their throat loudly. 

“Bertolt!”

Both of them flinched. It was the nurse who tended to Reiner earlier. A smirk danced on her lips. “You do realize you're still on the clock, right?”

“Ymir,” Bertolt groaned. “I’ll be right there. Sorry.”

He turned around to Reiner apologetically, whispering: “Just text me.”

Reiner nodded. “Of course. Yeah. I will.”

Bertolt left with Ymir. He could hear her break into laughter down the hallway.

He turned to his own companion. Porco’s gaze was still fixed on the floor.

“Hey,” Reiner said, touching his shoulder. “You feeling better?”

“In a minute,” Porco mumbled. His voice sounded stuffy.

Reiner stared. “Are you… tearing up?”

Porco sniffed.

“… Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!


	4. Year 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reiner contemplated on contacting Bertholdt. Porco decided on a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Turtle for writing this wonderful final chapter. Enjoy!

Reiner groaned. 

He could do so many things. He could make a perfectly buttery, flaky pastry or a cookie to die for. His review in the paper was glowing and the Mayor had even sent him a personal thank you note. Reiner had _even_ made it through Christmas dinner with a smile on his face through each and every of his mother’s comments. Yes, even when she had, one hundred percent serious, suggested that he add a hint more cinnamon to his pie, especially if he hoped to be preparing desserts for a very tall future husband. 

Through the burn and the stitches and Porco’s increasingly desperate attempts to mould his life into a gooey film script, Reiner had persisted, head high. Well, for the most part. 

He could not, for the life of him, bring himself to text Bertolt. 

His phone mocked him. He might have — no, he definitely had — thought that having his number would have better equipped him to conquer this, the final frontier:

A date.

Six years was such a long time. He was beyond rusty, which was not a great place to be considering his game had never been particularly strong in the first place. He was destined to screw this up. All his luck had, no doubt, been sucked up by the last two weeks. The last drops of fortune, spent in exchange for Bertolt’s number. 

As Reiner’s fingers thumbed a message, he stared at his own phone in disbelief. Had it really come to this? A final descent into madness. 

**Reiner:** How do I ask Bertolt for a date?

 **Porco:** i will be right there

Reiner rolled his eyes and pushed his hair back. That had _not_ been an invite. And yet there Porco was, at his door not twenty minutes later, bottle in hand.

“Ok,” Porco said, with a seriousness Reiner didn’t think he had ever seen him take, even at work. “You gotta ask him out for New Year’s.”

Reiner sighed and took a burning sip of post Christmas cheer. He grimaced, remembering just how Christmasy gin tasted. To make matters worse, it was a cheap bottle. That wouldn’t stop them from drinking it, of course. A gift was a gift, after all. Porco hid his distaste better, but Reiner could see the wince in his eyes.

“There’s no way he doesn’t have plans already.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little big for a first date?”

“Not for the love of your —”

“Porco, we just met —”

“Of your _life.”_

They drained their glasses. Porco snapped and pointed at the cheap popcorn ceiling.

“I got it!”

_Oh, god._

“Here’s what we do. We throw a party at the bakery. You say, ‘Hello, handsome —”

“Ohmygod.”

“— my _award winning_ —”

“I swear to god —”

“— bakery throws a New Year’s Eve party every year. I’d love it if you came.”

“I—” Reiner paused, mouth open a moment as he reconsidered. “Ok, that’s… We could throw a party.”

“Then,” Porco added, in his infinite wisdom, “If he says ‘no,’ we’ll have a party still. It’s a perfect plan. Text that man, Reiner.”

“Can we at least have some sort of party planned before I invite him to it?”

“Fair point. Leave it to me.”

* * *

The kitchen door swung violently open and a very cocky Porco marched through it, chest first.

“Alright, Reiner, get your phone out. This bakery is having a party.”

Reiner and Colt looked up from their stations, then looked at each other. Except — Wait, why was Colt smirking like he was in on it?

“I already have friends who said they can come,” Colt supplied cheerily. Reiner raised a brow towards Porco.

“What?” he said defensively, rolling his sleeves up to wash his hands. “We need people to have a party. Colt’s doing his part.”

“His _part?_ It’s a party, not a scheme.”

“Well you asked me to plan a party in order to score your soulmate, so —”

“I never asked—”

“—so here I am! Successful, with a guest list. Text him, you bozo.”

“Bozo? No way anyone says that any—”

“Text him!”

“Fine! Christ, fine, scoot over.”

Reiner elbowed out a place to wash his own hands clean of butter and flour. Bertolt’s name was soon on his screen (and he finally knew how to spell it), simply waiting to be contacted. Porco’s hawk stare was an intimidating form of support and Reiner silently swore he needed to be kept away from his love life from now on. Which, if this ridiculous plan worked, would be incredibly difficult. Oh, he could hear the bragging now. 

Reiner blanched at the image that materialized in his psyche. He could see it all too clearly:

Porco and his mother, who were suddenly spending time together some-fucking-how and reading the same romance novel for the same romance book club, would have a goddamn field day shadow planning their wedding.

Not that they were getting married. Because they had barely even met and Reiner still had to ask him on a first date. 

“Have you sent it?” Porco was way too close for comfort. Reiner shrugged away and finally, out of exhaustion as much as interest, hit send.

 **Reiner:** Hi, it’s Reiner. My bakery is throwing a party for New Year’s. Would you like to come? You can bring a friend if you want. 

Reiner reread it at least five times, which was four times more than he needed to go into a panicky spiral of anxiety. Porco’s voice came over his shoulder, even closer than before.

“Bring a friend? How the hell are you already friendzoning yourself? Oh my god, why didn’t you let me proofread —”

“Get back to work!” Reiner barked. 

* * *

It was happening. Excitement, nervousness, nausea; it all mixed and churned like a cheap margarita in his stomach, with no tacos to soak it up. There was only a plethora of New Year’s Eve decor, liquor bottles, and plastic champagne flutes. Porco stalked around the bakery; the only thing he lacked was a headset. As it was, he seemed to be making due with headphones and a clipboard that Reiner honestly had no idea they owned. Unless it was Porco’s personal clipboard… which was strangely not out of the question. 

“No, Marcel, _you’re_ supposed to bring the champagne. What do you mean they’re out? You didn’t buy it already?”

Porco stormed from the kitchen, where Reiner was still _working_. Work hours aside, Reiner was kind of impressed. Besides, it was good for them. A celebration was the perfect way to round out the year, date or no date. 

But he did have a date. 

Reiner bit his lip and could not resist a smile. Bertolt’s text had left no room for misinterpretation. 

_‘It’s a date,’_ he had texted back.

Reiner had developed a terrible habit of opening his messages in order to read it over at least once a day. Maybe twice a day. Ok, at least three times a day, but who was counting? It might have been his sixth Christmas, but damn it, this New Years was not going to be spent watching everyone around him kiss. 

Then his stomach fell. What if it _was?_ What if he brought a date around and it still didn’t work out? He couldn’t really be that pathetic, though, could he? His smile morphed into a frown and he stared listlessly at the miniscule shortbread scrub set he had barely finished decorating. No. This was too much. Too far!

“Put those in a box, stupid,” Porco commanded, then proceeded to do so for him. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Reiner protested. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know how many times I cut those out to get it right?”

“How —” Porco was walking away, though. Reiner finished the sentence, muttering the last bit to himself. “How much dough did you use?”

The oven chimed and Reiner’s time for worrying himself into the ground was running thin. He removed batch after batch of their signature pastries, almost mowing Colt over in the process. 

“Colt!”

“Let me,” Colt insisted, arms outstretched and oven mitts donned. “Porco told me to tell you to go get dressed.”

Reiner huffed.

“Look here, this is _my_ bakery, and if I want to…”

He trailed off to the sound of Porco’s voice in the background, growing more bossy by the second. 

“Thanks, Colt,” he sputtered, before making a break for it out their fire exit and into the alley. 

The streets were bustling with celebrators making their way to their own various parties and get-togethers. A line queued outside the storefront of his very own bakery, the last customers of the year coming to get their orders for the night. Ok, so even if the perfect nurse didn’t like him, Reiner supposed at least he had good business. 

Right. What more could he ask for? 

_A boyfriend,_ he thought, but stuffed that down. He did his best to look presentable and in the process was reminded, again, how long it had been. Either way, he had to get back. 

Hands stuffed deep in his pockets, he spared a low chuckle at the urgent care as he walked by it. What if he had been there the whole time? 

_Bertolt Hoover._

Reiner relished each syllable. Replayed the softness of his eyes and sucked in a nervous breath at the prospect of getting to spend real time with this man. Hope sparked all over again in Reiner’s chest. A small spark which grew into a wildfire as Reiner stepped through the door of his humble bakery, clear of customers and closed for business. He had been in the kitchen all day before escaping the back way and had not taken so much as a glimpse into their front of house. 

Porco had… a talent. 

Reiner swivelled left, then right, eyes wide. If it wasn’t gold, it was silver. Poppers were planted strategically along every surface, streamers streamed, and for one second, Reiner was personally convinced that they had been throwing a New Year’s bash every year before now. 

It didn’t look like a ploy, it looked like a goddamn party.

“I know, I know. Just pick your jaw up from the floor, you look dumb.”

Reiner spared a quick, but grateful, glare towards Porco. 

“Champagne for the boss man?” Porco teased, brandishing a bottle. 

“I thought Marcel couldn’t find any,” Reiner questioned.

“You don’t throw a New Year’s party and not have a backup champagne plan.”

Sure. Because _that_ would be ridiculous.

“This looks really good,” Reiner breathed.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“No, I — Wow.”

“Give me a raise and we’ll call it a day.”

Reiner just might. 

Colt wandered from the kitchen with a bright grin and trays of pastry that were soon assembled neatly on serving platters. 

“Porco…” Reiner leaned in. “Who paid for all this shit?”

“Oh, idunnoiwouldn’t — Colt, do you need help?!”

Reiner shook his head, but grabbed an empty flute and headed for the champagne. It was high time they enjoyed the fruits of their labor. Preferably, without any more emergency visits. He grabbed a bottle, two more glasses, and brought them to Porco and Colt. They watched with curiosity as he filled their flutes and then his own. Reiner raised his high.

“Cheers and thank you to the greatest staff and…” He felt a blush rising at his own words. “The most wonderful friends.” 

Porco glanced away, eyes blinking fast. Reiner continued.

“It’s been a great year. I couldn’t have done it without either of you. So here’s to year six.”

“Year six!” Porco and Colt chimed. 

“When do people get here anyway,” Reiner asked after his first sip. 

The door chimed and Reiner pinned Porco with an accusatory look.

“What? She asked if we were doing anything for New Year’s!” Porco exclaimed, taking a step back. 

“When?”

“At book club!”

“You’re seriously going to that?”

“Hey, ok, let me remind you that your boyfriend goes to that book club, too,” Porco argued defensively.

Karina’s voice drew nearer as she spoke.

“Oh, Reiner, look at these lovely decorations. I didn’t realize you had an eye for it.”

“He doesn’t.” Porco scoffed.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Porco, this must be your great handiwork, then.”

Reiner, Colt, and Porco all watched, stunned — or in horror, in Reiner’s case — as Karina’s hand landed on Porco’s arm. Porco practically sprang back at the touch, shock plain across his face. At this rate, he was going to back himself into the wall. 

“Uh, I — I, yep, that was me. Colt, did you hear the alarm for the cookies?”

“What coo—”

Porco shoved Colt through the kitchen doors so hard, Reiner briefly feared that another injury was imminent. He prayed that nobody would hurt themselves this time. 

“I had to hear about this from Porco,” Karina sighed.

“Sorry, mom.” Reiner hugged her and patted her back. “Champagne?”

_“Please.”_

They shared a small toast. 

“That Porco, he’s a nice young man.”

Reiner felt his blood drain.

“I don’t think so,” he breathed out, unable to muster much more volume.

“You don’t? Then why did you hire him? You see him all the time, don’t you?”

“Good baker. Great baker. Terrible person.”

“Really?”

“The worst, Mom. Sorry, I better go check the kitchen.”

Reiner pushed through the door.

“Porco, I swear,” he growled.

“No, wait. Reiner!”

Reiner had him by the collar and backed into one of the stainless steel sinks. This was the last straw. All the other shenanigans he could take, but _this?_

“Reiner?”

That voice. 

Reiner’s fist unclenched and he stepped back, realizing how awkwardly close he had been to Porco in that moment. Bertolt held the door open with a touch that Reiner could tell, even from where he stood, was careful. A familiar-looking woman smiled from beside him, seemingly amused. 

“Your mom told me you were back here,” the nurse from the heavens explained softly. 

“I’m straight,” Porco blurted out suddenly, eyes glued to Bertolt’s friend. “He — he’s mad at me, that’s all. We weren’t —” Porco motioned nervously with his hands. 

“Uh huh,” the woman said, still smiling. 

Reiner remembered where he had seen her. That day, walking past the urgent care — stopping at the urgent care — he had seen her at the front desk. Reiner glanced back at Porco, whose face had gone a terrible shade of pink.

 _“Why don’t you tell her why I was mad at you, then,”_ Reiner wanted to say, still not really over it, but more focused on the sweet face in the door.

“I’m here,” Reiner finally replied to Bertolt’s question, almost as out of place and ridiculous as Porco’s statement had been. 

Colt was already slipping around Bertolt and his friend and back to the shop area of the bakery. Reiner could hear music starting and new voices drifting through the kitchen door. Something nudged Bertolt forward and suddenly the woman had an arm laced through Porco’s, who had gone from pink to sheet white. 

“I’d love some champagne,” she said. 

At the slightest pull, Porco was walking away with her, eyes never leaving her face. And then Reiner was alone. With Bertolt.

“Um, that was Pieck. I hope you don’t mind. She begged me to come, she loves your bakery. I mean.” Bertolt cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. _“We_ love your bakery. I — We used to come here all the time, before I switched jobs.”

Reiner’s heart skipped a beat.

“You… did? I mean, I said you can bring a friend, so don’t worry at all—” Reiner caught himself blabbering. “But, you really used to come here?” 

“Yeah, as long as I was at the clinic. Everything here is so good.”

 _Everything here is so good._ Reiner immediately filed it away to what he hoped would be a growing list of praises he had received from Bertolt.

“How long did you work there,” Reiner asked, heat rising to his cheeks. Bertolt was getting closer.

Bertolt paused, his thinking face as unbearably cute as his everything else face. Reiner would bet he was cute even mad. Just, not at him. Hopefully. Ever. In their nonexistent relationship, that was. 

“Hm. Maybe about five years ago?”

Five. Five years. If he had only looked out the goddamn _door._

“Reiner?”

Reiner’s face snapped back to Bertolt’s. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Bertolt said quietly, “But I was sort of thinking you were going to ask me on a date.”

“I — I was,” Reiner stammered. “I wanted to. I didn’t want to be too…” _Needy_ , Reiner finished in his head. Bertolt’s low chuckle caught him off guard. 

“I mean, you basically stalked me to my new job. Which I think you found out from your mom. But, I was surprised that you asked me to a party. After all that.”

Reiner’s heart hammered in his chest. He was caught red handed and had nothing cool to say; no save at all.

“You knew?” He said, tone incredulous. Bertolt was getting close enough to touch. 

So tall. Handsome. Eyes. Green eyes. 

Reiner’s brain was losing the ability to form complete sentences.“Reiner, do you know how many urgent cares are between your bakery and where I work now?”

Reiner swallowed thickly and spied the small box on the counter behind them. 

“Do you want cookies?”

Bertolt’s eyebrows knit together and he straightened. 

“Right now?”

Reiner shoved the box into Bertolt’s hands. Bertolt opened it gingerly, eyes widening at the contents. 

“You… You made these for me?”Reiner shrugged. Blushed. 

“I can’t eat these,” Bertolt protested. Reiner frowned.

“Why not?” 

“They’re too cute. Look, you even got the pocket. I’ve got to show Pieck.”

“We can go show her,” Reiner suggested. Bertolt gave him a funny look, but nodded. 

“Ok.”

It was not until he was watching Bertolt leave the kitchen, looking fucking fantastic in jeans like that, that Reiner realized he had been about to kiss him. He silently cursed himself and wondered how many chances were left in the world for them. 

Reiner cursed again, this time out loud. The bakery was jam packed with people, almost all of them with champagne in hand. He found Porco in the corner, apparently recovered from earlier and chatting with a smug expression on his face to Pieck. 

“Look,” Bertolt said, handing her the box. Pieck smiled fondly and plucked out a pair of scrub pants. She bit one leg up to the knee.

“Hey!” Bertolt cried, grabbing the box back. 

“What, they’re cookies,” Pieck grumbled through the mouthful. “Oh, shit, these are good. Did you guys make them?”

“Sure did,” Porco boasted, already champagne buzzed.

“Aww, that’s so cute. Look, Bert, they’re just for you.”

Reiner’s chest tightened. He wanted to call him _Bert._

“And you just ate half of one,” _Bert_ accused.

“All of one,” she said before popping the rest into her mouth. 

“C’mon,” _Bert_ said. He pulled the box out of reach of Pieck’s groping hand and pulled Reiner away from their friends. Reiner had to remind himself to breathe when Bertolt didn’t let go. He could also still see Porco in the background and hear a faint, “I can make you some.”

“I should tell you something,” Bertolt said, giving his hand a soft squeeze. 

_Bert_ could tell him anything.

“I’m really only looking for something serious.”

Reiner resisted dropping to his knees and praising the baking spirits that be. Did miracles never cease? Was it six years of karma circling back?

“Me, too,” he breathed without hesitation. But it was obscured by the number ten, shouted by the crowd.

 _Midnight already?_ He thought with surprise. His eyes locked with Bertolt’s.

“Nine!”

Reiner took the box from Bertolt’s free hand and slid it onto a nearby tabletop. 

“Eight!”

Bertolt replaced the box with Reiner’s remaining hand.

“Seven!”

Reiner’s heart pounded, drowning out number six altogether.

“Five!”

Bertolt began to lean in.

“Four!”

Karina began to lean in.

“What the—” Reiner gasped.

“Three!”

From over Bertolt’s shoulder, Reiner could see his mother closing in on—

“Porco,” Reiner growled. Bertolt twisted.

“Two!”

Pieck’s laughter was silent in the commotion, but all too obvious. Reiner clung to Bertolt, a sudden floatation device in the sea of insanity that was his life. 

“One!”

Porco turned only just in time for Karina’s kiss to land on his cheek. A hand on Reiner’s cheek was the only reason he tore his eyes from the scene. 

Green eyes. 

“Are you trying not to kiss me?”

Reiner shook his head with newfound determination before tugging Bertolt right down to his level. He was sweeter than anything Reiner had ever tasted in his life — and he was a baker. 

He kissed Bertolt long past midnight and what might have been year six melted blissfully into year one.

* * *

“And _that_ is the story of how I got these two lovebirds together.”

Porco held his real glass champagne flute high in the air. The microphone squealed right before he shut it off. Reiner thought he had left out some very important details, such as, _no_ , he had not been the one to find out where Bertolt worked. And Porco had very conveniently left out the part where he had _kissed his mom._

But Reiner still clapped as Porco returned to his seat beside Pieck. Bertolt leaned into him from the side.

“Did you really throw that party just for me?”

Reiner blushed.

“Yeah, we did.”

Bertolt spared him a long smile. 

“What a great husband.”

“I guess I’m doing ok so far, then?” Reiner chuckled nervously. 

Bertolt leaned in and graced his cheek with a soft peck.

“You’re doing great, Reiner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much Pengi for writing this with me and thank you to everyone reading! Happy New Year!  
> \- Turtlewatcher
> 
> Thank you to Turtle for pitching the idea to co-author this and ofc for writing it with me! And thank you to everyone who read and followed this fic, it's made my holiday season much livelier. Happy New Year!  
> \- Pengi


End file.
